The
1% Shuffle
First we wan-a then we wine-a
We dance it all day long
This
is it, No it's not, First it is, then it's not.
It's the 1% shuffle all day long.
Wandering in the Carnival night
With infinite sparks flying
It's the 1% shuffle all day long
Rushing here, rushing there
Bigger Better, Never Lasting, Never Resting
It's the 1% shuffle all day long
It's getting late and the Carnival still glitters and shines
But our money is spent and now we cry.
It's the 1% shuffle all day long
But our condition is true
We wake up each lifetime
And the process renews
It's the 1% shuffle all day long
Some SEE there is more than this
A Universal Dance, ever giving breath that lasts,
Warm Glow, Consistent Light, Death is a thing of the past.
January
2007
The
1% Shuffle - Spirit Song - Conversations
with the Wind - top
Spirit Song
Spirit searching testing for a place of light
To cross the abyss that keeps us apart
Spirit searching testing in hopes that it might
Cross the abyss and find an open heart
Spirit searching testing, be still and wait
The heart has a guard that needs to open the gate
Spirits shining light, there is no guard
The gate is an illusion it’s the final card
Spirit shining bright entering my heart
Has crossed the abyss and filled me with light
Never will we part spirit shining bright
Has crossed the abyss and made it right
Spirit’s shining light has made me whole
The path is illuminated and so is my goal
Not always gentle but always with love
Spirit’s works of wonders in stories told of
January 2007
The
1% Shuffle - Spirit Song - Conversations
with the Wind - top
Conversations with the Wind
When I was a young child, about 4 years old, I was opened consciously
to the feeling of something greater than myself.
I
was like a leaf on a tree, new born to the patterned randomness
of the blowing wind.
As I grew older amongst the leaf society on the planet tree, I learned
the language of my fellow leaves and, through observation of their
actions, I learned their ways. I realized, when I was young, that
there was something different in the way I saw our world, for the
replies given to my questions told me that the older, supposedly
more learned leaves did not know the answers either. They would
always change the subject and hush me up.
I
could not recognize fully what the wind was, but felt it was there.
I knew inside that our planet was alive and possibly not the only
one of its kind to produce life, but could not prove it to others
or myself. It was just a feeling.
The
rest of my fellow leaves, except for a few, told me that it was
they who moved and danced by their own power, not by the the power
of this invisible “wind”. “How could out planet
be alive?” the would ask laughingly. “Such wild imaginations
these young buds have” was the comment I heard whispered between
two older leaves when they heard my ideas.
The
sense of not belonging grew, but where did I belong and how would
I get there? I was not unhappy but confused. The confusion, which
would later in my life lead to silent alertness, now only filled
me with curiosity beyond my control. I saw all around me, other
leaves doing things that seemed to bring them out of the pain of
confusion and seemed to hold the answer, and I tried to do the same,
time after time, but found for me no answers but only a temporary
distraction from the pain of not knowing.
So my search continued.
My
own neighbourhood branch, which was near the inner part of the planet,
was very crowded, rarely saw the light and was visited mostly by
things that crawled and any news that was heard had to filter through
the pores of most of the other leaves.
One
day, while in quite contemplation of my questions, a creature called
a butterfly, the most magnificent and gracefully beautiful ever,
appeared to me in a vision. Unlike every other creature that flew
or walked, being so absorbed in what they were doing to get more
than an unintelligible buzz from them as they passed by, this butterfly
stopped and held conversations with me. She told me of the many
wonders of the world outside and laughed as I cautiously asked her
of the wind and the tree and of her and from where she came.
“Of
the wind”, she said calmly, as her wings moved in a hypnotic
manner, “it is true that even though you cannot see it, it
is there. Most of the confusion of your fellow leaves comes from
not recognizing this being you call wind.”
“Being?”
I asked excitedly, “You mean it’s alive too”?
“But
of course”, she replied, “the wind carries the aromas
of my food, tells me where it is, and even carries me there, If
I am silent and listen, the wind will tell me everything that I
need to know.” With that, she was off and the last words I
heard her say were: “The wind is calling, I must go. Remember
to be silent and listen to the wind, and one day you will fly like
me.”
I
had never before known such warmth, understanding light, and close
connections to the answers: and when she was gone I was plunged,
deeper than ever, into reflections of my loneliness and the restrictions
of being a leaf.
The
determination that develops out of such conditions is very unlike
the determination that develops out of ambition. One is born of
silence and “becomes” and the other is born out of noise
and “dies”.
So
it went, in my silence I saw and heard very much. I held conversation
with the wind and the tree. I saw everything being moved to the
order of a silent symphony, not the the chaos of individual choice.
I heard many stories from the leaves at the top, being passed through
the blood of this living tree. They had much wisdom to pass on for
they were not shaded by others and had none to get in the way of
their seeing.
During
my silent times, opened to the power of the wind and tree, my fellow
leaves criticized me for closing up, for not being involved in the
rest of the leaf games, for being lazy and not doing anything, etc.
When they gave up on trying to make me feel guilty they tried to
tempt me with all the excitements of leaf things, but I held fast
to my silence for I remembered how they had been only distractions
before.
One
day in my silent meditations, when, for that day the rest of the
leaves had left me alone, not caring to waste any more of their
time, I had another vision.
In
this vision I saw a leaf like myself get picked from a branch by
a great spinning wind and carried into the sky. As the leaf spun
faster it lost its form as a leaf and out of the formless spinning
colour a butterfly emerged. It was the same butterfly that had come
to me in a vision when I was younger. This time she held out her
hand and the wind spoke through her, saying “Come, it is time
to leave the final conditionings of being a leaf. Let go and come
with me.” Those words were no sooner spoken, when a sudden
gust of wind picked me up and spun me around faster and faster.
Because I had learned to recognize the wind for what it was I soon
let go of my fear.
The
wildness of chaos became ordered and the blinding brightness became
colours; the colours of my own wings of perception.
1985
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